


Anything

by White Aster (white_aster)



Series: Test of Gold [2]
Category: Final Fantasy VI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-26
Updated: 2001-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 16:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/pseuds/White%20Aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of Gerad's gang discovers Edgar's identity, Edgar has to make some fast choices about what he'll pay for the man's silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything

"'Ey, boss."

The voice was loud, familiar, and--as far as Edgar was concerned--entirely too cheerful for being in his room unannounced this late at night. Waiting for him, it seemed.

"Ifrit's balls, Dane don't do that. You nearly gave me a stroke." Edgar left the door to the hallway open behind him as he moved inside. The light from the hallway was feeble, but better than nothing. Especially when there was a knife-wielding mercenary in the room with you.

"Sorry, boss. Just wanted to talk to you."

Edgar moved to the small table by the bed, lighting and turning up the wick on the lamp as quickly as he could without looking like he was hurrying. As the light came up, he could finally see Dane sitting by the bed, his fingers steepled on his stomach as he slouched in the rickety wooden chair. The mercenary was smiling his usual half-grin. Edgar frowned, irritated. He'd been looking forward to dropping his "Boss" persona and falling into bed. As necessary as the charade was, it was growing tiring. "Can't this wait? And wouldn't somewhere other than my room be better?"

"Eh." Dane stood and moved to sit on the windowsill, silent and graceful. The flamelight suited him, caught in the red, shoulder-length fall of his hair, highlighting the twists of the single, slender braid that hung neatly among the strands. In the semi-dark, the smooth dark tan of his skin blended with the wood of the walls, and the amber of his eyes shone, cat-like, almost glowing. He stretched, joints popping softly, and replied, "Don't think so, boss."

When he had met Dane six months ago, Edgar had recognized the sunset-red hair and caramel-dark complexion of the nomadic tribes that roamed the deserts around Figaro. It had made him think carefully before taking Dane on. The tribes were known for hot tempers that sometimes outweighed their deadly knifeplay, and for the barest, finest trace of Esper blood that left them just a bit...strange. It was rumored that the tribespeople could read a man's heart with their light-colored eyes.

Edgar doubted that last, but he had to admit that Dane's eyes were rather unnerving, something he had seen Dane use to his advantage more than once. Nor were his eyes the only unnerving thing about him. As the mercenary settled one hip on the windowsill, Edgar could see the outline of a dagger in his boot where his pants lay flush against his leg. Edgar knew it wasn't the only one he had. Even sitting companionably in Edgar's room, seemingly in high spirits, Edgar couldn't forget that Dane was the most dangerous man in his new "gang". Especially this close.

The flare of a match highlighted the sharp triangle of his face as he lit one of his sweet-smelling Marandan cigarettes. The look in his eyes was devilish as he exhaled the clove-scented smoke. "What? You afraid of what the boys'll say?"

"Hardly." No one in the gang said a word about Dane's preferences. He had a few on-again, off-again things going with a few of them, if Edgar's guesses were correct. None of it seemed forced or terribly serious, so Edgar had filed the information away in the back of his brain and concentrated on more important things, like getting home. But now there were warning bells going off in his head. Dane had until now treated him with a fair approximation of respect. He'd certainly never before _teased_.

Thankfully, keeping his thoughts out of his face was something Edgar had mastered before he was ten. He sat on the bed, sideways so he'd still be able to keep Dane in sight, and sighed, trying to sound unconcerned and mildly irritated. "What's this about, Dane?"

"Eh." Dane waved negligently with one hand, but his eyes never left Edgar's face. The scrutiny made the warning in Edgar's head up its volume a notch. "Just wonderin' why I shouldn't tell the boys who you are and watch 'em tear your Empire-lovin' ass to bits."

Edgar, in the middle of pulling off his boots, did not, to his credit, freeze. He pulled off the last boot and snorted derisively before looking up. Dane's face held its usual easy half-grin, but his eyes were cold through the smoke of his cigarette. It hit Edgar that that was the same look he'd seen so many times in Shadow's eyes, a look that said, "I don't particularly care whether you live or die. Convince me."

_Please, please gods let him be fishing._ "What the hell are you talking about?" Edgar leaned back over the side of the bed, as if to put his boot on the floor, out of Dane's sight.

"Keep your hands up here." The chill in the mercenary's voice matched the cold flicker of steel in his hand as one of his throwing knives appeared there, half-drawn back. Edgar froze and slowly leaned back up onto the bed. "Wouldn't want you goin' for any of those nice toys you got under the bed, now would we? Might do somethin' you'd regret."

"Look, I don't know who you think I am--"

"Can it. I don't think, your Highness, I _know_. You've got some balls comin' here, I gotta give you that. Tryin' to pull off this stunt, especially with a buncha guys _you_ put in prison. They might've never actually seen you, but I have. So you can drop the act and answer my fucking question."

Edgar's mind raced as he saw his chances of getting out of this room alive quickly fading. Dane was fast. Very fast. Faster than Edgar could dodge or cast a spell or call on Ifrit. Last week he'd drawn a dagger, risen to slam it cheerfully into a heckler's gut, then sheathed it and sat back down before the man even knew he'd been hit.

Edgar watched the cold fill those strange eyes and realized that Dane really wanted to kill him, as if this was something more than just a commoner's disdain for royalty. Something personal. Edgar swallowed, remembering the phrasing Dane had used, and seized upon the only clue he could find. "I wasn't with the Empire."

"Bullshit. Half the world knows Figaro's been their puppet since King Aaron--" Dane snorted derisively "--died."

Old, familiar pain flared at his father's name. "He was poisoned."

"Not too hard to guess."

"I've hated the Empire ever since."

The grin turned into a smirk. "Sure didn't look like it."

"Look!" Edgar reined his voice in. The walls weren't that thick here, and he sure as hell didn't want any of the others in here. A few of the gang weren't nearly as rational as Dane. "The only reason I went along with them is so they'd leave me alone, so they'd think I was a feckless idiot who was no threat to them. So they'd be too convinced I was harmless to even consider that I was funding the Returners."

An eyebrow went up, and the tension in Dane's shoulders eased just a bit. "Oh, really?"

_I don't fucking believe that I'm discussing my foreign policy at knifepoint with a mercenary._ "Yes. Really. When the Returners sent a very important refugee from the Empire, a...defector, to Figaro, Kefka followed her and threatened us. I ordered the castle to submerge and then escaped."

"Awfully risky. They still coulda burned South Figaro."

"I was betting they wanted South Figaro intact too much to burn it. And that they were too interested in the girl they'd lost to worry about revenge on me." His eyes closed briefly. "Thank the gods I was right."

Dane's fox-bright eyes bored into his for another long moment. "I believe you." He sounded almost surprised. Edgar couldn't hide a sigh of relief as the knife disappeared back into Dane's boot. "Who was this defector?"

Edgar raised an eyebrow and couldn't help a smile. "Are you still going to kill me if I don't answer, or is this just to satisfy your own curiosity?"

"Curiosity." The grin was back as he drew on his cigarette again. "And because you never answered my question. Just because I won't kill you doesn't mean the other guys won't. Consider it partial payment."

The mercenary's eyes were only half-laughing. "She was a...project of theirs. She was a new weapon they wanted back."

"What kind of weapon?"

"Magic."

Dane frowned. "Magitek? One of those officers they had?"

"No." Edgar raised his hand, cupped in front of him and spoke one soft word, ever so gently, so as not to set himself, Dane, or the room on fire. "Fiera."

Dane's eyes widened as flames curled placidly into being in Edgar's hand, brightening the room. The light turned his eyes to topaz, and for one moment the expression on his face was something akin to wonder.

"Magic," Edgar said again. With a thought, the fire curled in on itself and was gone. He interrupted when Dane started to ask another question. "How I got it is a long damned story, and one I'm really too tired to tell tonight. So if you're not going to kill me, could we take this up in the morning?"

Dane ignored that last bit, but seemed willing to let the magic go for the moment. "Why do you want to get back to Figaro? If anyone's still there, they're probably dead by now."

Edgar looked out the window over Dane's shoulder. He could almost see the desert, the way the sand would look like white fire under the rising moon. He swallowed, trying to find the words. "It's my home. I won't leave it there. I know every gear and pipe and motor by heart. If I can get to it, I can fix it."

"That's why you need us. To get you there."

"Yes."

"Which," Dane's voice was cheerful again, "leads us back to my question."

_Gods, I hate mercenaries._ "What do you want?"

"Hmmm." Dane closed his eyes, still smiling, as if thinking. His eyes, when he opened them, gleamed with something more than amusement. He stood, slowly, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table without even looking. Two steps brought him to the narrow bed. A long, thin hand slid along Edgar's cheek around to the back of his neck, startlingly warm and smelling of tobacco and sweet herbs. Edgar stayed frozen, startled blue eyes watching Dane's face, very aware of the fact that the mercenary could kill him with a flick of his wrist.

He didn't. He did something even more startling. As swift as a striking cat, he kissed him.

When Edgar's mouth opened in surprise, Dane's tongue slid in, tasting him. Had Edgar been in any position to think, which he was not, he would have expected the kiss to be violent, bruising. It wasn't. It was as slow and sweet as the cinnamon and clove that flavored Dane's tongue and lips, as if Edgar were some delicacy Dane was taking his time to enjoy. His hair fell forward, tickling, soft against their faces. His hand at the nape of Edgar's neck kneaded gently, his tongue coaxing Edgar's to play. Edgar could feel the strength in the man's hand, the leashed tension pouring off his whip-thin body, and he had a flash from earlier, when they'd been in the baths, of Dane, lounging naked in the pool, head back, laughing, his hair trailing like fire in the water, his skin golden in the light, his eyes shining with merriment. _If this is what he wants--_

It was not enough to make Edgar forget that this was a man, surely not enough to let him enjoy it, but--

_\--anything--_

\--he and Sabin had played enough games with each other as boys for it not to be too terrifying--

_\--anything--_

\--and it just couldn't be _that_ bad and--really--

_Anything for Figaro._

Dane pulled back, slowly, almost reluctantly, just enough so he could stare into Edgar's eyes. A bit dazed, Edgar wondered, He does that so often. What does he see?

"You would, wouldn't you? Chasin' after every skirt in sight, and you'd let me fuck you." Dane shook his head, incredulous, something surprised and genuinely affectionate in his eyes. The movement made auburn hair slither across Edgar's face again, and he suppressed a shiver, not answering. Perhaps his eyes said it all.

Anything.

Dane shook his head again and straightened up so quickly that Edgar's tired brain reeled a bit with his sudden not-nearness.

"A pardon."

Edgar blinked at him. "What?"

Dane threw his arms wide, laughing. "A pardon! I'm still a wanted man in Figaro. I want a full pardon."

Edgar's mind stuttered for a moment over what he was not going to have to do, and finally came up with, "That's it?"

Laughter again, like falling water, and a smile that reveled in knowing exactly what was going through Edgar's head. "I've got family in South Figaro. I don't appreciate you wagerin' with their lives, but you can start to make it up by lettin' me go see 'em in the daylight for once."

"What are you wanted for?"

"Does it matter?" Amber eyes narrowed at him, and Dane's head tilted to the side, bird-like.

"I have to ask."

Dane sighed theatrically and held thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "The tiniest bit of grand larceny. It was from someone who could afford it, if that makes you feel better."

Edgar wanted to ask who--and if it was him--but thought better of it. Better if I don't know. "Fine."

"Good!" Dane held out a hand, and Edgar shook it, still a bit surprised at the speed the seductiveness had disappeared.

Then, just before letting go, Dane shifted his long fingers around Edgar's hand, until he could brush Edgar's knuckles with his lips. His eyes danced in the lamplight, but his voice was strangely soft and serious. "Pleasure doing business with you...my king."

Then, with a grin and a chuckle, he was gone, closing the door behind him, whistling softly down the hall, leaving Edgar with the taste of clove still on his tongue.

 

~end


End file.
